


A Relic of the Past

by Silver_Flair



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Death, One Shot, Sad Ending, Short, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 20:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19933708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Flair/pseuds/Silver_Flair
Summary: There are whispers spoken throughout the Universe, gossip about the death of the Ancient.They tell of a war crossing galaxies and a rage that burned hotter than the stars.They don't tell of the dimming stars or the grieving worlds. Of the Universe, itself shivering in sadness for a breath before all returns to normal.





	A Relic of the Past

A sigh escaped his frozen lips, his breath forming into vapor in the cold morning air. If anyone was around, it might have given away his location with how visible it was. Alas, no one was about for miles upon miles. His heartbeat the only one not still in this desolate moor. 

Around him lay the bodies of monsters, relics from the past, just as he was. A war which had continued on for eons. World after world falling, galaxies colliding, and stars themselves dying. It was finally over.

For so long, he had fought and killed. Tainted his soul, filled only with the need for revenge. The death of his family was still as strong as it was the day he returned home to find them all dead. Yet, as he stands here, the only creature alive in this world, there is no satisfaction. Nothing to make this all worthwhile. 

Of course, there wouldn’t, what was he thinking? Killing them wouldn't bring back his family, wouldn’t right the wrongs he’s done to achieve this. And yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He’s lived longer than any of his kind, all others who bare the blood of the Ancients gone. He’s alone, and no longer does he have a purpose. 

His hands rise from where they were by his side, covered in the glowing blood of his enemy. His palms are calloused and rough, his fingertips bloody, and his talons glinting with his poison. He begins to shake, looking down between his raised palms to see his blood dripping onto the dead ground below. 

He is dying. After so long, escaping death, again and again, he is dying. His legend spoken of in the night, whispers of a vengeful Ancient, the last of his kind who hunt down his enemy without regards to others. Stories told to keep children in line, and gossip of how they escaped his poisoned grasp. 

As if they really did, from the moment he found his Mate and their children dead he had not let a single enemy escape alive. Even as his kind was killed, hunted until he was the only one left, he had fought. 

And now, it was over. He was dying, and for the first time since his family died, he was scared. Would he be welcome? Would they want to see him? Would they forgive him for the lives he took, the  _ children _ he’s killed? The innocent, and the sinners, the mothers, and the fathers. The Kings and the commoners. They have all fallen to his poisoned talons.

He remembers the blood of newborns staining his hands red. Of the terrified cries of children as he killed their caretakers. He remembers so much, and yet nothing at all.

He knees grow weak, his body falling to the ground. He coughs, his blood beginning to leak from his pores in place of his poison. He turns his head to the side, gazing up at the stars which are dimming as the sun continues to rise. His breathing stutters and his eyes begin to glaze. Finally, a rattling breath escapes him and he breathes no more. 

He does not know it, for he was blinded long ago. But the Universe itself seems to dims for just a second as the last of the Ancients fall. 

However, life is not yet done with him, even if this Universe can no longer nurture him. It gladly passes his soul to one who can and turns its attention back to those who live. A Universe cannot grieve for the past, it can only look towards the future.

A gift to the lonely and broken soul of its first creation is the only thing it can do to ease his agony. 

_ May the next journey be filled with creation. _


End file.
